Dragons Blood
by indigo wishes
Summary: This is set many, many years after the reign of King Jonathan has fallen. I got really tired of the same used time and place. The only living hier to the throne is a slave of a thief guild, who hasn't the faintest idea she's royalty.
1. Chapter one

The trek across the desert had been long and tedious. Everybody was relieved to see a hazy outline of the last solitary house on the darkening horizon. This place of refuge, owned by the guild, was to be the closest to the city. From here, it was only one long day of hiking to the outskirts of Greth. Lyra, trudging at the end of the train with most of the other slaves, didn't keep her face up for long to gawp at the small stone towers. The sand was in her eyes, and even her tightly secured veil couldn't keep the wind from blowing it into her nose and mouth. Her thin, loose hair was a mess and thin tendrils that weren't being thrashed about by the wind were plastered on her face and neck with perspiration. Sand had even slipped under her iron collar, and was rubbing the pale skin raw.  
  
The others were all miserable as well, past the point of wanting to complain. Why anyone would live in this desert was beyond Lyra's imagination. Before they became too tired and thirsty to speak, the children had been exchanging horror stories of the humans that lived in this bleak, wind- scarred expanse. They mostly all ended with the desert people being flayed from the constant sand whipping around in the air, though Lyra had them all silent for awhile with a little tale of blind mole-like mutants that swam though the dunes as if it was water, and came up under a traveler and held them below till they suffocated.  
  
Though, when the train reached the last solitary without meeting any mole-people, the children would almost have been disappointed, if not for the prospect of retuning home soon. They had been led the farthest any of them had ever been away from Greth, and it didn't help that they traveled this desert under the particularly windiest months. To get to Jahileh, all travelers must cross the un-named desert.  
  
Paquet, head tall at the head of the small train, had dismounted and walked up the several stone steps before stopping at the high wooden door. As the end of the train caught up, they stood waiting quietly, and gazed at the squat towers. They only stood about six stories high, with a small crawling space under the iron shingled roof. There were roughly three dozen different spells draped in every corner, to protect against immortals. Once inside the first tower, you could get to the other two by means of underground tunnels, but since there weren't that many of them there this time, only the main building would be used. With a flick of her wrist, Paquet unlocked the heavy doors. Three slaves rushed in first and light torches and lamps. People hefted packs onto their shoulders again, and filed in slowly.  
  
After they had taken care of all their masters, the slaves had a chance to pick out rooms for themselves on the fourth and fifth floors. They all hurried to get rooms with their friends, the excitement lifting some of everybody's weary and sore muscles.  
  
A few years ago, on this same trip, Lyra had roomed with some of her close friends on the fourth floor; Jaro, Kath, Digit, and the rest. This time, as she rounded the steps to the fifth floor with Misao pulling her along, she realized she didn't even know if Jaro and Digit had even come this time around. She started wondering about finding somebody before she caught herself. Lyra wasn't one to brood about old friends. Ever. Of all things to think of!  
  
"They don't know my name. I have new people now," she found herself murmuring to nobody in particular. Admits the excited chattering of the children, it was hard for Misao to pick out her words, but after a few more frowning looks from her friend, she tried shaking Lyra, as if she were asleep. Lyra kept her eyes forward and walked with robotic movements. Why was Misao pushing her? This was no time to be playing around.  
  
"It's just the sun fever." A raspy voice noted from below Lyra. It was Hlao, walking behind them on the stairs. He had his head at an angle to see around the two bags he was carrying.  
  
"Jet is down with it too, fourth flour. You'll want to lie her down and keep her cool. There's not much you can do otherwise."  
  
"Thanks." Misao look uncertainly at Lyra while she took one of his bags. They started walking again when others below them started yelling with impatience. When they got upstairs, she handed it back before he disappeared into the first room. Misao ushered the dazed girl into another low-ceilinged room that was soon crowded with other girls. One of them, Ayn, already had her bedroll out and was saving two spots for them. She stepped nimblely across the room to gather Lyra's pack for her, as she was looking decidedly worse. Her eyes drifted without purpose.  
  
"Hlao says it's the sun fever," Misao said slowly, and helped her down to lie on Ayn's blanket. Lyra was off thinking about the stones that made up the ceiling now, and wondered why they looked twice as many as last time. Perhaps they would open up and she could see if it was a full moon.  
  
The little water Misao begged off of the other girls only wet a cloth enough to wipe the grime from Lyra's face and neck. They were all dirty and covered in sand, but used to it mostly by now, and too tired to care. Lyra felt her hair being brushed to the side of her face before falling asleep.  
  
* * *  
  
The morning sun was nowhere to be seen out the narrow little window. All the slaves were up before dawn, getting ready for work. As Misao went downstairs to care for her mistress, Ayn was the one to wake Lyra up.  
  
"I hope you're feeling better," she said glumly.  
  
Lyra shook her head as she rubbed her sore legs. "Don't worry, you wont have to pull double duty for me. I'll be fine, if you care."  
  
"I never-It's not me that wouldn't give a rat's tail. Regean is already up, two doors down, and acting more queenly than ever. You can bet she wont care," Ayn sniffed out as she tossed a brush to the still sitting Lyra.  
  
Even though her head still swam, Lyra got up and folded her blankets.  
  
"Thanks, then." she grumbled. Ayn understood.  
  
The doors were open all down the hall, and there were children and teens running back and forth to get ready in less than ten minutes of when they got up. This seemed the most hectic time of day, but there was a fine pattern to it all. The motions were practiced and brisk. After tying up her bedroll, Lyra dipped a moderately clean towel into the bowl of cold water being passed around. She wiped her face and shoulders before twisting her long dirty blond hair into a tight bun. Her only other set of clothes were clean; apparently someone had volunteered to do laundry the night before. She slipped on the cotton tunic and put back on the small leather bond-bag around her shoulders. It was depressingly light.  
  
Downstairs found Lyra working in the kitchens. The whole place bustled with activity, and people worked around each other automatically. Being one of the older ones, Lyra sent off four boys to set places. She herself wiped off tables that had months of dust and grime settled on them.  
  
Regean stood by the hearth with eyes gleaming. Her arms were crossed and a maroon bandana was tied across her forehead, to keep the black bangs from getting in her eyes. She stayed in here because it was cooler that the kitchen, but she could still tell if anybody wasn't working.  
  
"Heard tell you was sick last night." She struck up a conversation, letting her pause for a minute or two. Lyra stopped with the now murky water bowl rested on her hip, and gave a curt nod. She eyed the bondbag around Regean's shoulders. It looked pretty full. Would they be seeing the last of her soon?  
  
"I bet Marjo you'd still be out today. Lost three gold crowns on you."  
  
Not a chance. The way this slave threw money around, she could be as poor as dirt one second, and another practically richer that her own master.  
  
"Jet, you know 'im? He's still out; asleep like a dead rat up there." Regean continued as she sank onto a bench and swung her legs up too. She was obviously feeling kindly towards Lyra, who wasn't even a friend of her's. I can't just stand here and nod at whatever she says. Lyra thought, eyes rounding slightly.  
  
"Oh yes, I know Jet. He swore this trip would be the death of him, and I suppose this his last chance." That was a lie, Lyra had never spoken with this other boy, but what did that matter?  
  
Apparently it did. Regean cracked a wide grin and moved to sit up on the table itself. She bent closer to Lyra with interest.  
  
"That bag looks pretty empty."  
  
"Maybe that's because it is. Now, if you could excuse me, some of us have work." She turned to leave, but not before seeing a wide smile plastered on Regean's face. The sarcasm hadn't stirred her at all from her high horse. That was just Regean. Lyra stalked back into the kitchen feeling eyes on her the entire time.  
  
Pretty soon the whole house was awake, and breakfast was served. Misao found Lyra and sat with her at the oak tables the kids crowed around. To the left there were high tables the slaves weren't allowed to sit at. Paquet sat silently at the middle, not the head, as the people around her argued over a map and some scrolls. By that afternoon everybody would know that overnight there had been omens of immortals coming this way. Paquet hadn't said how long they would be staying here. What leader would take her people out to face monsters in the windy desert? But everybody was anxious to get home with the bounty, and they were short on rations. These were the decisions that plagued the daughter of the Guild Lord.  
  
A motion at her right tore Lyra's watch away from the high table. Some boys stood to leave, though they hadn't finished eating. She and Misao had gotten here after them. But they only moved down a few seats before sitting again. In there places, appeared Regean, surrounded by six or so of her friends. The blond one, Marjo, was the first to sit, and casually picked up a forkful of rice, and started eating. She nodded towards Lyra and Misao, with her mouth full. Regean sat across from her, like always, and before Lyra wondered if she should move to make room, the others settled down comfortably.  
  
It was amazing to Lyra how the girl could pull off that attitude with the iron collar around her neck. She wore it more like a crown than an uncomfortable reminder of their lack of freedom. With a smirk she also started eating, as if they did this everyday. Lyra looked at Misao, who looked at Ayn, and back at Marjo, who she sat next to. 


	2. Author's note

a/n-  
  
Whew, I just took down all my previous chapters and posted a rewritten, Chapter 1!  
  
This chapter isn't a continuation of the story, just an author's note.  
  
If you've been so kind as to read my bio, you will see that I'm looking for someone to hel me out in the way of betareading/ editing. As a beginning writer, I would really appretiate anyone that could just read my chapters and tell me if they make sense or not. Please?? You can email me at indigo2_22@yahoo.com . ( Whew, I luv seeing the words turn blue when I type 'em like that XD )  
  
Then again, *reviews* really help too!! ^_^  
  
Last thing-How the heck does a person get the paragraphs to indent? There must be something I'm missing. do you use formats? Do you have to add and all that? Help!! 


	3. Chapter two

A/n- Wow, that must have been the worst chapter ending possible. (Chapter one) The reason was that I had originally planned to cut it, post the first half as ch. 1, and go back and continue ch. 2. But in my rush to post, I forgot that I hadn't /saved/ that cut version. Oh well, *picks up fragmented remains of story* lets just try to fit these together again, shall we?  
  
And, of course, what would a fanfic be without its very own disclaimer? (Though I never saw much sense in these; aren't I already saying the charas 'en't mine just by posting them under /fanfic/?) Tortall, all bordering countries, and all those that live there at the time of King Jonathan's Reign including Immortals, do not belong to me. Happy?  
  
A person wandering the streets of Greth would find almost anything they wished, if they were willing to look hard enough. To those that live there and know all the prominent people, the nicer landmarks, and the crisscrossed streets, any other place would be a pale shadow to their wondrous city. To outsiders, especially those not accustomed to the great multitude of individual and contradicting lifestyles, customs, and people, the city is chaos upon earth-a prime example of the disorder left in the wake of the Ematian wars. From afar, you do not see outstanding towers gleaming in the sun, or even a proud castle wall, nor parapets draped with flags.  
  
There is but a mere low standing wall, the top wearing down visibly, and patrolled always with plain clothed guards and their trusty, if never impressive, home-made weapons. The buildings inside are made with chalk like clay, which is the only resource that area has to offer. They stand low, are supported with thick wooden beams, and all seem to be connected even across the biggest streets. From upper windows hang assortments of colorful laundry, plants, and charms galore. The whole city is so draped with small individual charms it would seem brighter than the sun to a magic seeing mage. Truthfully, most of them don't work half as well as the owners would like, but the city hosts a roaring trade in selling spell scrolls, among other things.  
  
Many of the spell scrolls that adorn the walls of Greth come from the not so far east. About a few miles from the easternmost fields, lies the lake of Geissan [ jee-san]. On the north banks of this lake there is small fortress, maintained by the Guild of Acerum. The Haearn people that reside there, as the populace of the city has come to calling them, were thought to originally be a nomadic tribe like the many clans that roam across present day Tortall. The then small tribe has since grown, after settleing down in the area. They have perfected the art of weapon making, and are a power to be recconed with, for few other syndacates in the land have accumulated so many folowers.  
  
By now, anybody that comes into service with the Guild, is labled discerningly as Haearn, and don the white cloaks with their mysterious masks whenever leaving their fortress. When this happens, the town's people, for that is where the Haearn go outside of their home, gather in groups to line the streets, only to shrink back elusivly when they pass. This is what the citizens on Greth tell themselves, and their children, who tell it to their children. They are content with the knowlage, and nobody ever thinks to verify this rumor.  
  
This façade is acctually quite usfull to the youth of Acerum, who, as you have no doubt figured out by now, travel into the city quite often. They spend much of their free time there, because life in the fortress is cramped, stuffy, and doesn't boast such a wide variety of people. In order not to jostle their cover, they never use the gates, for the city is truly in the middle of nowhere, and anybody commng in or leaving would be stopped and questioned.  
  
These youths are light-footed, trained in weaponry, and generally, all have been bought out of the city as slaves in their childhood. Many slaves, who never leave the fortress without breaking at least five of the regulations palced on them, run here in groups. They find means of buying their freedom. Alongside the city slaves, they are hardly able to be told apart, for many Haearn are Greth citizens by birth. The Lords and Ladies of the Guild don't often come here, and instead, they send plain clothed servants, or apprintices, to search for the yougnsters that stay out for an exceptionally long time.  
  
In the spirit of chasing down a runaway, Ajax Simurawi strode purposefully down one of the larger streets of Greth. In his right hand a heavy, long handled Kama was gripped at the neck.  
  
He was heading back towards the outskirts. In the outer circles he would find Magda. And hopefully, with Magda, he would find Jaro. Or perhaps become a little better acquainted with the whereabouts of the fugitive slave. He had thought the kama would serve as an helpful persuasion tool.  
  
Jaro was the troublemaker. She was constantly trying to come up with ways to escape, turn the slaves against their masters, or just cause chaos. She was crafty at it too; after the big fight in the Yaranzo square, she had turned up missing. Three other slaves were dead, and she had a large debt to pay back still.  
  
He would find her. He thought of the wry smile she wore when she was last seen. It would be the same smile she would have on when she was again caught.  
  
Jaro never did any of it for any reason. It wasn't money, and it wasn't in spite of her Masters, but instead, the motivation behind these little escapades seemed simply a way for her to prove her cunning. But then that didn't seem quite right either; Jaro wasn't proud enough to want to show off. She sulked in corners and gave a cynical laugh to everything. Her life was nothing but a big joke, and she was dismissed as one of the slaves that would never get around to buying their freedom.  
  
It was startling to see how much she had changed since the days he was a slave too, and kept company with the intractable girl. But when he thought back to it-she really hadn't changed much, and this was what scarred everybody. Why did she seem so different now, when what had really changed most of all was the way he saw her? Did he see her differently because he had risen to his new place, as a free man? He remembered how he had vehemently sworn to himself that even free, he would never abandon his friends. But it wasn't like that; everybody, even the slaves had become more distant with Jaro.  
  
He considered what he would do when he found her. Besides taking her back of course-would he say anything? Reminisce on old memories with a one time friend?  
  
Banishing all thoughts akin to that last one, Ajax switched his scythe to his other hand, before picking up his speed. The wall was coming closer, and he would have to get past the patrol. He knew a way that was often used by his friends, and found a place to sit and watch the wall secretly. It was a tree he was aiming for, though he couldn't see it right then. The tree was dead and without any leaves, but also conveniently placed only a few feet from the top of the wall. That patch of wall itself was partially blocked from the view of anyone patrollers to the south, thanks to an especially tall shrine tower.  
  
All he had to do was get the timing correct and he was over the wall and in the safety of its shadow. This was the Morning Adan, as the Haearn called it. In the afternoon, when the light would give away this exit, everybody would leave through the top of the more southerly Adan, which was accessed by the top of the butcher's roof. Nobody used the real gates, if you didn't want to get stopped and forced to admit you were from Acerum.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the edge of the desert, the wind had kicked up again. The howling was echoed through the entire tower, and audible to everyone in the commons. The morning sun was blocked from the windows by the dense sand and everybody cast worried glances around the room. Paquet's face (towards which everyone had at some point looked) was smooth and discerning as usual, but she had stopped eating and sat thoughtfully looking up at the ceiling.  
  
Not being able to tell anything from their reah, all the slaves turned immediately towards Regean, who was calmly taking a sip from her watered down wine. Lyra sat close by though, and could see that her eyes did occasionally dart up to the high table, and the unreadable face now watching her arguing friends again.  
  
When she had sat down, Lyra could tell that Misao tensed, but she probably did herself. She was being silly; she knew of course, that Regean, in effect, was just a slave. No-one of importance, like Lyra herself. This was how it should be in theory. But in practice-and everybody knew this worked, if not exactly how it did-Regean was higher that the others.  
  
It always happened this way, apparently. A reah among slaves. Most often to inherit the syndicate once they had gotten out of bond. Paquet already had an eye on her. The other slaves took orders from her almost as readily as from any one of their true Masters. And they all liked the girl too. She was very popular among her subjects, although to the untrained eye, no reason was there. The few that didn't fall under her august stride were the strange, outcast people. Sometimes, in Lyra's eyes, they were the brave ones, to decide not to follow the rules laid down by practice. Then other times she would just look down on them, for they were always distant and separate from others.  
  
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A/N- did that make any sense? At all? Please review! If you do, and leave you're fanfic bio page, I promise to go r/r you're stories! Whew, this was a long chapter though, and the rest probably will be shorter. Let me know what you think! 


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